My Stereotypical Tropical Paradise 10/26/10

I have been slightly disappointed during my island time that I have not had the quintessential setting of white sandy beaches and remote lagoons that are often depicted in pictures and movies representing the pacific islands. I have been amazed by the wonderful beauty of the rain forests and awed by the breathtaking views of calm ocean and lush mountains, but nonetheless I have been yearning for a soft sandy stretch to relax upon.

This last weekend, my dream came true. We heard of a picnic island out on the edge of the reef of the lagoon called Pisar and thought it would be a wonderful idea to spend a Saturday out on the little island. We talked to our families and roused a lot of enthusiasm for the idea. One of my cousins mentioned that you have to actually pay to go to Pisar, and he had a much better idea for our venture. His family owned two small islands that flanked both sides of Pisar. We could spend the day at these islands free of charge and free of people. We had permission to play for a day on our own private tropical island.

After buying gas and oil for the boats, we departed early Saturday morning in two outboard motor boats. Ben, Naavid, Paul, Becky, Julie and I were accompanied by my host mom Kira, my brother Boi and a few cousins. We zipped through the blue waters of the lagoon and reached the outer reef in less than an hour. As we approached, we noticed a small cluster of sandy atolls covered in waving palm trees. We drove our boat right up to the shore and pulled it onto the sand at the corner of one of the islands. The group of us hopped out of the boat and beheld the glory before us.

The site before our eyes was unlike any scene even imagined in dreams. I cannot do justice to the beauty of the place with my simple writings. It was beyond description. The water was clearer than any I had ever seen. The visibility had to be at least 50 or 100 feet underwater. You could look down from the surface and see 15 feet straight down to the coral with crystal clear precision. Waves could be seen in the distance crashing on the edge of the reef but the light blue water around us was as peaceful as could be.

There were three small atoll islands forming a triad of magnificence around a shallow lagoon in the middle. Each of the islands was covered in dense vegetation but had a welcoming crust of soft white sand. The beaches sloped leisurely into the water and eventually dropped a few feet into a sandy coral surface that encompassed the bottom of the small lagoon. I cannot attest to the accuracy of my estimates, but I surmised that the water temperature and air temperature both hovered around 85 degrees. Although the ocean was warm, it was still quite refreshing to relieve ourselves of the humidity and splash around in the shallow water. A slight breeze and thin layers of scattered clouds protected us from the harsh beating sun, but we still adamantly applied sunscreen throughout the day to shield our white pasty American skin.

We encircled the island with a short walk and took a rest under the shade of a large bush. We gazed out over the ocean and marveled at the pure ecstasy that we were enjoying. As the day wore on, we ventured out from our immediate location and waded through the water over to a sandbar about 100 yards from our spot. We snorkeled through the shallow water for a little while and then took off our gear when we got to the sandbar.

It was low tide and there was only about a foot of water that inundated the sandy knoll in the lagoon. I whipped out my Frisbee and tossed it over to Becky, it was out of her reach but she dove and grabbed it as she splashed softly into the water. This initial act of athleticism made us all realize how perfect this place was for flamboyant diving catches. We threw the Frisbee around and made acrobatic leaps without fear of any repercussions. The water was shallow enough to run through, but deep enough to cushion our falls. We spent about 20 minutes flying the disc through the crisp air as we stood calf deep on the sandbar. I then surveyed our surroundings and came up with a fantastic idea.

We were going to make history and possibly be the first people in the world to play a game of ultimate Frisbee while immersed in the water in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. We split up into two teams of four and began our game. We were free to push and pull each other around like rag dolls because there was no hard ground to harm us when we fell. We could dive like maniacs and implement novel defensive Frisbee techniques like splashing water at the thrower. It was definitely the coolest place that anyone has ever played a game of Frisbee. The timing, location, weather, environment and people made it the perfect situation to play the best game ever of ultimate Frisbee.

After our game of romping on the sandbar with the Frisbee we swam back to our home base and settled down to rest and drink some water. We were greeted by some of my other cousins who were cooking filets of fish on a fire made of dried coconut husks. They prepared a lime and soy dipping sauce for us and placed the freshly cooked fish on a large banana leaf sitting by the fire. We ate the fish and we were blown away by the mouthwatering taste and explosion of flavors. We all agreed that this was the best fish we had eaten in all of Micronesia and it only added to the amazingness of our day. We asked our cousins what type of fish it was and they snickered and replied with some complex non interpretable Chuukese words, they just assured us that it was just caught early that morning. It wasn’t until the next day that we were told what kind of fish we had been greedily devouring off the grill on the beach……Shark! They didn’t tell us at first because they were worried that we would be scared and not eat the fish, but they were pleasantly surprised to see our agreeable reaction to the delectable sea animal. I have eaten shark before, but this was shark on a whole new level.

As we finished off the shark meat, one of my cousins scampered up a large coconut tree and ripped off a few for us to drink from. I decided this was a good opportunity to work on my coconut climbing skills. I had scaled one before, but it was rather small and I felt I was up for bigger challenge. After some urging from my friends I started my way up the slender trunk. The notches in the tree were spaced very far apart and I struggled to find hand or foot holds to help me in my ascension. As I neared the top I began to lose confidence and I held my body closer and closer to the tree. This method was successful in calming my nerves and assuring my safety, but it was unfortunately also successful and scraping up my chest and arms. I reached the top, tore off a few coconuts, and then slowly descended the tree as I bear hugged my way down. I did make progress in my goals by getting up a larger tree, but I was slightly embarrassed at my lack of dexterity and confidence in the style of climbing. The correct form to climb a palm tree is to bow your knees out and use the arches of your feet around the curve of the tree. You are supposed to keep your arms fully extended and use your legs to propel yourself up the tree like a leaping frog. I attempted this method, but always began to slip and then resorted to my safe tactic of squeezing the trunk with all my might. At the end of the day, I was safe but came away with a bloodied up midsection. I hope to continue to work on my palm tree climbing skills and become a nimble monkey very soon.

We relaxed around the beach and rolled in and out of the serene water for a while as we soaked in the sun. My uncle then returned from his fishing expedition and arrived with a blob of flesh that looked like a gigantic octopus! On closer inspection, we noticed that it was actually seven octopi hanging off the same hook. The animals’ gelatinous fleshy tissue seemed to meld together in the hot sun and create one beastly globule of calamari. My uncle is renowned as one of the best fisherman on Tonowas and has a special talent for spotting octopi.

I later enquired about the methods of catching octopi and got a rather riveting explanation from another local. The Chuukese method of fishing for octopi is as follows. First step is to find the octopus. This is particularly difficult because they camouflage themselves against the coral when a predator approaches. However, when you are sure that you have spotted and cornered an octopus then you must stab it directly in the head with your spear. Keep the spear inside the head and shake it furiously until their brains are scrambled and the creature lets go its grasp of the rocks. It will begin to float up and then you must remove your spear, grab it by the head, finger through its tentacles and stab the spear up through its circular fang encrusted mouth. Then you must deal the final deathblow to the octopus. Find the slit at the back of its head and violently yank until the head is turned inside out. After this coup de grace, you can ascend to the top and finally take a breath with your prize in hand. A partner should accompany you in case the octopus is huge and attempts to drown you with its tentacles as you try to subdue it. Remember, this entire process must also take place during the length of a single breath under water……these guys are badass.

We were all very excited about my uncle’s fishing expedition and wanted to learn how to spear fish for ourselves. We jumped in the boat and my cousin took us about 200 yards out to a point where the reef dropped off a little. He showed us all the basics of spear fishing and we all got to try our hand at it for a few minutes. The spears they use here in Chuuk work fine for their purpose, but are quite basic in their construction. Usually a long thin metal rod is taken out from the interior of a car seat and fashioned with a point on one end and an indented notch on the other end. Then a piece of rubber is tied in a circle with a small string attached to the end. You hold the small string to the notched end of the spear with your left hand and grab the body of the spear with your right hand. Pull back with your left hand and release with both hands when you are ready to shoot. The basics are pretty simple, but the process is harder than it sounds. There were a lot of us trying to learn to use one spear so we each only got a couple minutes to take a few shots. None were successful. Nevertheless we enjoyed snorkeling around the reef and reveling in the perfectly clear waters.

We came to the surface after a while and noticed that the weather had suddenly shifted. The tide had begun to rise and the current was now considerably stronger. Dark grey clouds were approaching us from the east and winds were now whipping over the lagoon. It became apparent that a storm was imminent. We hoisted ourselves back into the boat just as the rain began to splatter down. By the time we got back to our base camp, the wind was roaring and the rain was barreling down. The calm waters that we had waded in before were now a steady flow of white-capped waves spinning in the wind. The rain drenched us to the bone and we actually felt cold for one of the first times since being in Micronesia. The only refuge from the furies of the storm was to submerge ourselves in the warm waters below. We sunk ourselves in the water and took solace in the warmth it provided. It was a pretty amazing experience to seek ocean water in order to warm ourselves up. It definitely seemed oxymoronic and went against all of my innate instincts, but it totally worked. One of my cousins then walked out into the water with us holding a large steaming cup of coffee. Nothing like hot coffee and tropical waters to keep you warm during a storm. We spent the next hour or two sitting in the water and watching the rain drops “falling up” as Forrest Gump would say. This part of our Saturday excursion may sound dull and depressing, but it was actually refreshing and exhilarating. We had been getting baked in the scorching sun all day and it was nice to have a change of temperature for a while. It was such a unique experience that we all relished the moment greatly enjoyed the tempest.

The clouds began to disperse and we relaxed for another hour or so before deciding to head back home on our boats. Our day had been more than successful and we were all exhausted. We piled into the motorboats and started our trip back to Tonowas. The tranquil waters of the large lagoon had been upset by the storm and were now violently rocking and shaking. After about 15 minutes, my little old mama turned to me and presented me with a Tupperware dish full of the leftover rice and fish. She told us all to grab a handful of rice and form it into a ball in our hands. She then directed the boat driver to flank the side of the other boat that our friends were riding in. We pulled along side and unleashed a fury of rice balls at our unknowing and unaware buddies. I deemed these rice balls “Chuukese Snowballs” and we began a full on food fight as we bounced through the waves on our two boats back to Tonowas. We finished the rice and then began throwing fish heads and spam at each other. We finally ran out of food and had to stop our crazy antics when one of the others was almost thrown out of the boat by a big wave when he stood up to huck a rice ball at us.

Overall, this was one of my favorite days of Peace Corps so far. Actually, it was one of my favorite days of my life. It fulfilled my dreams of stereotypical tropical paradise and amazed me with its indescribable beauty. The perfect relaxing day was also punctuated by ultimate Frisbee games in the shallow water, quick and ferocious storms, and a high-speed food fight to top it off. If any of you ever decide to come visit me out here in Chuuk, you can be assured I will take you on a trip out to these flawless islands.

Climbing Chuuk in Chuuk

On my first Saturday in Chuuk I decided to climb to the top of the mountain on Tonoas. Interestingly enough, Chuuk actually means mountain. So I was climbing the chuuk in Chuuk. As I mentioned before, the Chuuk lagoon and specifically the island of Tonoas was a naval base headquarters for the Japanese during WWII. The Japanese cut down all the trees and destroyed all the vegetation in order to build roads and buildings all over the island. We were hoping to reach the top of the mountain and climb a light tower to see a grand view of the entire lagoon. We planned the hike as just a few of us Peace Corps volunteers exploring the island, but it soon turned into quite an expedition. Julie, Becky, Naavid, Paul, Ben and I were going along with the current volunteers Andrea and John. But as our group came together, word spread like wildfire through the town that we were making this trek. By the time we started ascending the mountain, we had a crew of about 20 or 30 locals escorting us up the slopes.

Most of the people were little kids with no shoes that scampered up and down the paths with fascinating dexterity. The local children’s actions reminded me of my shepherd dog dude when we go on hikes; constantly running back and forth from the front of the group to the back to make sure that everybody is ok. The kids didn’t ever seem to drink water, never slowed down and traversed this rugged terrain with nothing more than a pair of shorts. We tended to stay on the path, but many of them just tromped through the jungle and tore through the vines and bushes that impeded their journey. 8-year-old boys were clamoring up palm trees and tossing us coconuts down to drink. It was very impressive and a little emasculating to see these little boys scale the mountain and trees with such ease.

I am not confident enough to bear hug the palm trees and squirm my way up a 50 foot trunk overhanging a cliff, but I did find one of the coolest climbing trees ever. It had huge vines drooping down and was half growing out of a rocky hillside. I leapt up and grabbed a hold of the vines to hoist myself up like Tarzan. I maneuvered around like a monkey for a while on the tree and ascended the highest branches reachable until I noticed some commotion down below. Someone yelled up to me that there were some great caves carved into the rock cliffside near the base of the tree. I slipped my way down the vines and went to check out the crevices in the mountain. Well, these were more than just crevices. The Japanese had built a network of caves and tunnels that went through the mountain. You could enter the cave on one side and after a little wandering in the dark; you would pop out on the other side of the mountain. I could definitely see the battle strategy employed with the use of the caves and admired the Japanese workmanship in construction of these caves. The insides seemed to be encased in crumbling concrete that at one time probably made these damp caves into sleek tunnels for storage and transportation. We played around the caves for a bit and the kids caught some birds with their bare hands in the dark. Once again showing how badass these local islanders are.

After a couple of hours of struggling our way through dense jungle, we finally reached the apex of the island. We came upon an old tower and climbed a rickety ladder to the top. From this vantage point we had a wondrous view of the lagoon and admired the pure beauty of our location. We truly are in paradise and times like this made us remember how lucky we are.

On our way down, we got a little reminder of why rain forests are called “rain” forests. It rains a lot. We were about half way down the mountain when the darks cloud came over our heads and let buckets of water pour from the sky. We were drenched to the bone within a few minutes but reveled in the clean and refreshing downpour. The only problematic issue was the effect when water mixes with dirt. It creates mud. Mud is slippery. Mud is especially slippery when you are walking downhill with sandals on. Needless to say, the rest of the trip down was a slippery sliding mess. We used vines and plants as handles to brace our steps but nonetheless spent much of the time on our butts in the mud. We decided to make the best of this and when we came to a clearing we cut some big banana leaves and fashioned them as sleds. We rather unsuccessfully slid down through the mud on our makeshift slides and dirtied ourselves up even more. When we finally reached the bottom of the mountain it was natural to go straight to the ocean. All thirty of us dove in the water with our clothes on to wash away to grime and mud that has splattered us during our descent. I turned on my back, floated in the buoyant salt water as the rain pit-patted on my face and once again reassured myself how lucky I was to be in such an amazing place.

Tonoas Time 10/21/10

I am working my way through Phase 2 of my training and learning the language rather quickly. My knowledge of Chuukese in only one week has far surpassed my mastery of Pohnpeian in 5 weeks. I am spending the majority of my days learning Chuukese in a classroom type setting, but my extra efforts are what really make the difference. Unlike Pohnpei, I have a strong drive to learn to the language and a purpose behind my education. I will be using Chuukese for the next couple years of my life, so I better learn it fast. The faster I learn it, the more comfortable I will be and the better time I will have in Chuuk. Knowing the language will facilitate my job as teacher and community developer, but more importantly it will allow me to become part of the society. I will be able to understand conversations and communicate on an intelligible level. As of right now, I feel like a half-brained idiot stumbling my way through simple phrases and making a fool of my self-trying to talk to anybody. When I master the Chuukese language, then I will truly be immersing myself into the culture.

Luckily I have a family that is extremely helpful in facilitating my language learning. My mother is a teacher and attended college in America, so she is a great resource to explain the differences between the languages. My father and brother are also adamant about helping me learn Chuukese and constantly teach me new words and help me with pronunciation. Most of my family speaks great English, however they usually try to talk to me in Chuukese to force me to acclimate to the foreign language. I am often confused and have to wait for them to get frustrated and then translate to English, however I think the system is working quite well. I am catching on to Chuukese faster than the rest of my peers and my family is a big part of it.

I usually carry around a little notepad to jot down important phrases and words in. I have a larger notebook that I take notes with in class each day, but my small personal pad is reserved only for essential language basics. In class we spend about 4 or 5 hours each day going over vocabulary and translations. I have learned a lot of words, but it is still difficult to put together a coherent sentence. There are only four of us in the class and our teacher can give us individual attention, which is particularly helpful for pronunciation and clarification of usage.

The best thing about my language class is its location. We do our classes in an open-air semi-circle structure that is approximately thirty feet from the ocean. It is sometimes hard to concentrate on my teacher when he is flanked by a pristine view of calm blue water and scattered tropical islands. The lagoon waters are an array of blue hues with a hint of white coral beneath the surface. A cool ocean breeze often flows through our class and reminds our senses of our fantastical location. We spend our breaks gazing out at the beautiful site or just lying down and relaxing in the shade of a mango tree.

After class we often stroll down the coast and take a swim in the deeper waters off the edge of old Japanese airstrip. The water is deep here and you can dive off concrete edges of the busted old war ruins. Anytime that any of us take a swim, we are never alone. Usually a group of about 20 kids will pick up on our idea when they see us walking and follow us over the swimming spot. They will just leap in with their clothes, or sometimes strip naked and hop into the water. None of the locals really have bathing suits, so normal clothes or their birthday suits are the preferred fashion for swimming. I haven’t been swimming everyday, but I hope to increase my frequency and spend more time in the water. Unfortunately, there aren’t really any beaches on Tonoas. It is entirely surrounded by rock walls along the coast constructed by the Japanese. It is still beautiful and easily accessible, but it takes away from the classical beach scene that I hoped to have. Who knows, maybe Fefan will be different.

If I don’t swim after class, I will often go and play basketball. There is only one functional court around the village. There is a plywood backboard, a rim with no net and a cracked cement slab to serve as the court. Nonetheless, the halfcourt nestled in the bushes in usually crowded with onlookers at about 4pm everyday. I walked by once after taking a swim and was hailed to hop into a game to show them if I knew how to play. I ran around barefoot and only played one game that day, but I assured them that I would return the next day with shoes and play for real. The next day after class I strapped on my old running shoes and hustled down to the court. There were about 20 guys surrounding the court, but as I approached they immediately put me in the next game without having to wait in line. They were all very anxious to see if I was any good at basketball. Well it turned out that on this day I was good….really good. I was as hot as I have ever been in basketball. It was one of those days where everything that I threw up just seemed to find its way into the basket. I was nailing outside shots, slashing across the middle, and spinning towards the basket. To put it simply, I dominated. I scored the majority of my teams points each game and we won about 15 games in a row until we finally had to stop when the sun went down. I had wowed the local players and I think solidified myself as a hot topic around the village. Since that first afternoon of playing, people come up to me everyday and ask I am going to come play basketball. I probably wont ever repeat my amazing performance of my first outing, but I am still quite happy to have found a thriving basketball community that I can fit right into.

My reputation around the village has also been inflated by a few other incidents. Church is the center of the community here and is the essential social element that unites everybody in the village. Pretty much every single person attends church on Sundays and most people go at 6am every day of the week. So on our first Sunday, it was a rather big deal that 4 new white folk were coming to church for the first time. It also happened to be a special time at the church because they were doing a pulpit exchange with some visiting pastors from across the island. After the services, we all came together in a common room and had a feast. We ate all types of fish, taro, rice, fruit and dozens of other local foods. As the meal was wearing down, singing and music started. A choir of young kids and teenage girls sang some religious songs along with a few others. At one point, the beat picked up and everyone in the room started getting involved. They started a chorus together and suddenly called up each of the volunteers to do a dance in front of the group. Everyone did their little diddy and I was the last one to be called up. I strutted and jigged my way up to the front and did some of my wacky hopping flailing that characterizes my not so rhythmic dance style. I ended by spinning around, smacking the floor and striking an outstretched pose. The crowd burst into laughter and clapped furiously to applaud my efforts. Apparently my dance moves made somewhat of an impact on the locals. Numerous people congratulated me for my great dancing and the crowd of teenage girls giggled and blushed when I approached them after. One person remarked that I was already breaking the hearts of these young girls.

The legend of Johnny Hunter was further enhanced by some creative rumors about the scar on my head. Nobody has approached me about my scar and I haven’t received any questions about its origin. I think it is taboo to be blunt and ask about the scar, but nonetheless it is apparently a hot topic. Today I was told the story that has been running through the village. It is now believed that I was in New York on 9/11 and an errant shard of one of the planes sliced a gash in my head. Hahahaha. None of my fellow Peace Corps friends started this rumor; it simply grew out of the minds of the local people. A host sister of one the volunteers even asked them if they could watch the movie about 9/11 because they thought that there might be footage of me in it.  During the last 20 years I have made up numerous crazy stories about how I got the scar just to amuse myself, but I have never thought of anything so ridiculous and unlikely as this. I give credit to the creative mind that put together the pieces and figured out the true origin of my scar. In Chuukese culture, I am now an American hero movie star that narrowly escaped death during the terrorist attacks of 9/11.

Truckin my way to Truk (Chuuk) 10/12/10

I have been assigned to spend the next two years of my life in the state of Chuuk in Micronesia. Chuuk (formerly Truk) is the most populous state in the FSM and is composed mainly of large lagoon with small islands scattered throughout. There are a few outer atolls and smaller lagoons such as the Mortlocks, but the Chuuk Lagoon is where I will be located is the heart of Chuuk. Chuuk has the infamous reputation of being the problematic area of Micronesia. In a speech to us a couple of weeks ago, the US Ambassador referred to Chuuk as a “spectacular failure.” On of my host brothers on Pohnpei likened Chuuk to the “hood of East LA”. It has the negative stigma of corrupt government, mismanaged education system, rotting infrastructure, and violent citizens.

Although its reputation is by no means sterling, I am confident that these rumors I have heard are highly exaggerated. The majority of the negativity stems from the problems on the main island of Weno. It does have a fairly high crime rate and its infrastructure sucks. However, I am going to be on the rural farming island of Fefan. Fefan along with the rest of the lagoon islands are safe, clean and happy. They have remained rather undeveloped and maintained their traditional roots of island lifestyle. I am in no danger of violence or crime and the lack of roads, electricity and facilities does not bother me. The only thing that might irk me is the crappy education system. I might become frustrated when I realize the lack of resources and misallocations of money in my school when I arrive. But I will cross that bridge when I come to it. As of now, I am very happy with my placement in Chuuk and am assured that its disapproving naysayers are simply ignorant. In my opinion, it is a beautiful paradise that is just struggling with its adjustment to the modern world.

Nonetheless, my trip from Pohnpei to my current location was no walk in the park. We were supposed to leave on Saturday October 9^th at about 2pm. I left my Pohnpeian host family at about 9am and drove to the Kolonia to the airport. There were 21 Peace Corps volunteers plus a few staff members departing that day to the respective islands, so it was quite a production to coordinate us all. Everybody had about 100 pounds of luggage and had just given tearful goodbyes to their Pohnpeian friends and families. When we got to the airport, we realized that our flight was actually scheduled for 3pm, so our 11am arrival time was a little premature. It was fine though, because we were cherishing the last moments with the other volunteers that were about to ship out to specks of land in the vast ocean. We played games, said our goodbyes and went through security to board our flights.

As we were waiting in the terminal, a big storm burst open in the sky. The sky suddenly turned dark, thunder cracked and the rain poured down in torrents. The plane was scheduled to arrive in about 5 minutes, but we became worried that it might not be able to land in this weather. Sure enough, a man walked in after about 20 minutes and reaffirmed our premonitions that the plane was not able to land. It had passed over Pohnpei and continued on to Chuuk and Guam. The rain had stopped by now and the skies were clear and blue. We were kind of bummed but laughed it off and continued to revel in our last moments as a group together.

After about an hour or two of waiting, we were told that the plane would come back around 8pm and fly us to our locations as scheduled. We had no problem with this scenario and got a ride with our stuff back to the Peace Corps office then scattered around the city of Kolonia to grab some dinner and drinks. We went to local café; ate burgers, watched sportscenter and drank some rum. It was actually pretty fun to get a little liquored up and watch sports before I headed out to the undeveloped jungles of Chuuk. We joked about whether or not the flight would be delayed again and even threw out the crazy idea that we might arrive at the airport again and have our flight cancelled at the last moment.

Right before we left for the airport a second time, we received news that the flight was delayed further and wouldn’t come in until around midnight. So we strolled down to another bar and got ourselves mentally prepared for a long flight ahead. The rain started up again and our fears were recurring about flight cancellation. However, we received no more bad news and crammed into a few vans with our gigantic pieces of luggage to drive to the airport. We drearily waited in line with the other cranky passengers and waited to check in once more for our midnight flight across the great dark ocean. As we were approaching the front of the line, an airport officer stood up in front and announced “the flight will arrive on time and depart at 12:30 am…….but it wont be stopping in Chuuk”. The flight was planning on skipping over our destination in Chuuk and flying straight to Guam. All of the other volunteers needed to go to Guam before they took smaller flights to Yap and Palau, but the 7 of us were supposed to just take the 45 minute puddle jumper over to Chuuk. I guess not.

We booked flights for the next night, said goodbye to our friends and went to go find a hotel in Kolonia for the night. Luckily, the majority of the worldwide tuna convention attendees had just left town so we were able to get a room at Yvonne’s (the same place we stayed our first night in Pohnpei). The Chuuk volunteers decided to down a couple bottles of rum and try to enjoy our stranded endeavors for the night. We awoke the next morning and spent the entire day doing nothing at all. We slept, used computers and slept some more. Our flight wasn’t until 1 am the next morning, so we had plenty of time to waste.

To our pleasant surprise, our 1am flight was on time and whisked us away towards Chuuk. We only arrived about 38 hours late and crawled into our hotel rooms at about 4am on Sunday morning. The hotel was actually fairly nice and we were happy to get hot showers and air conditioning. It was my first hot shower since I’ve been here and I don’t expect to get another one any time soon. We struggled out of bed in the morning and went out to see the beautiful sites of Weno! I now got a better idea why nobody is clamoring to come to Chuuk. Weno is not a picturesque tropical city. The roads are decayed and flooded. You never drive for more than 25 feet of flat pavement. Potholes, ponds, quagmires, refuse and mud compose the majority of the streets. It is difficult terrain for any vehicle to traverse that is not a 4 x 4. The buildings are crumbling and it seems like unfinished construction projects are ubiquitous. It pretty much resembles any third world city you will run across. However, it does have its charming points. It is in the middle of a pristine lagoon of tranquil waters and majestic views. The island is covered in lush vegetation and has punctuated spires of rock protruding towards the billowing clouds in the sky. There is also one very nice hotel/dive shop called the blue lagoon. This place embodies the stereotypical tropical paradise resort. Wooden condos are placed on grassy knolls next to clean beaches with palm trees reaching out over their shores. It provides a stark contrast to the dirty bustling city a couple of miles away.

After an afternoon of getting acquainted with Weno, we jumped on a boat and zipped a few miles over to the neighboring island of Tonoas. Tonoas is the location for my 5 week part two of session of training. Here on Tonoas, I will be undergoing intensive language classes and acclimating to the Chuukese lifestyle. My island Fefan is only about a mile away and can be seen from outside my house, but I probably wont go there until my actual service begins in mid November. Tonoas is my home until then. Tonoas (formerly Dublon) is famous for being one of the major Japanese naval headquarters during WWII. The entire island was cleared of all trees and vegetation and made into a fully functioning Japanese war base. The ruins of the Japanese bunkers, communication centers, gun towers, roads, airstrips, and buildings are scattered throughout the island. They are mostly reclaimed by overgrown bushes and eroded from the salt and sea of the Pacific, but their presence is undeniable. The Japanese also conglomerated most of its navy in Chuuk lagoon towards the end of the war. Then in a massive attack called “Operation Hailstorm”, the US bombarded the lagoon and sunk most of the ships. It was a crushing blow to the Japanese and put them on the run until the end of the war. The attack sunk over 70 ships along with countless planes. For the convenience of the modern scuba diver, these wrecked vehicles became hotbeds for coral growth and have created the best wreck dives in the entire world. Fortunately, I am scuba certified and totally plan on exploring the sunken ships in the depths around my new home. The bulk of the wreckage is between Weno, Tonoas, and Fefan; so I am perfectly situated to take advantage of these sites.

My time in Tonoas has been short, but I have enjoyed it immensely. On Pohnpei, the villages are up on the hillsides in the jungle and vast stretches of mangrove forest surround the shore. Most of the time, I forgot I was on a island at all. On Tonoas, there is no doubting that you are on an island. My language classes are in an outdoor building about 30 feet from the water. The language teacher is in the foreground, and in the background I can see miles of tranquil blue water and a few lumps of green outcroppings amidst the sparkling sky. The houses are smaller, the amenities are fewer, the cars have vanished, and the people are more sparse; but nonetheless I enjoy it more than Pohnpei already. People are living a slightly more traditional lifestyle and seem to be more in touch with their ancestral roots. I live with a wonderful family with a mother, brother and father that all speak perfect English. My mother attended college in the US and now teaches at the elementary school, my father works at the hospital in Weno, and the other members of my family all seem to bright shining young people. It is kind of nice to have a much smaller family than in Pohnpei, I will have much more alone time and not be constantly bombarded with sakau drinking and the screams of young children. I will immensely miss my Pohnpeian family and already am sad about abandoning the innocent hearts of little brothers and sisters, but I have to admit that it is more relaxing to be on Tonoas. Tonoas is similar size, similar population, similar location, and similar population to my island of Fefan; so this is a good warm-up to get me ready for my final location. I am working hard to learn the Chuukese language and hopefully will be a pro in no time.

One of the waterfalls along the river in Salapwuk

In a cave underneath a waterfall on the mountainsides of Pohnpei

Climbing a wall at the ancient ruins of Nan Midol with Brian